Doc's Secret
by dinacarter
Summary: Doc Adams has been acting rather strangely lately he keeps disappearing and avoids his friends. What is he trying to hide?
1. Chapter 1

**Doc's Secret**

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_Disclaimer: This fan fiction was written for entertainment purposes only and is not intended to infringe or violate the copyrights as owned by VIACOM/PARAMOUNT, nor to realize any profits._

_Summary: Doc Adams has been acting rather strangely lately; he keeps disappearing and avoids his friends. What is he trying to hide?_

_Rating: PG-13. Please be advised that this story contains crude language, graphic violence that some readers might find offensive. Discretion is advised. _

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**Chapter One**

_x_

"Well, fer heaven's sakes," muttered Doc Adams to himself as he fumbled with the hurricane lamp, trying to light it.

"All right, all right...I'm comin'...you don't have to knock the door down," he then called towards the front of his office when the loud knocking became more persistent.

With the lamp finally lit, he hurriedly shuffled through the darkness towards the front door.

No sooner had he unlocked it, than someone pushed it open and quickly entered.

Doc held the lamp up to the man's face who squinted annoyed at the bright light.

"I need your help, doc," said the stranger urgently, shielding his eyes with his hand.

The physician lowered the lamp a little and regarded him closer.

The man was tall and lanky, his dark hair was covered by a worn-looking brown hat, and his thin face was unshaven and pitted with pockmarks.

Doc didn't like the looks of him nor did he recall seeing him in Dodge before.

"What can I do for you?" he wanted to know as he continued to study the stranger carefully; he noticed that the man's left hand was restlessly running up and down the side of his leg.

"It's ma wife, doc...she's about to have her baby," the man replied, his gaze nervously sweeping the office as if trying to make sure that the doctor was alone.

Surprised, Doc glanced towards the door.

"Well,...why, in thunder, didn't you bring her up here?" he wondered, expecting the woman to be waiting in a wagon down in the street.

"She ain't here," replied the man, scratching his stubbly chin as he nodded vaguely towards the window. "She's out yonder...a couple o' miles north of town...our wagon broke an axle."

Almost immediately, a frown began to darken the physician's face.

"You mean to tell, me you left a woman, about to give birth out there all by herself?" he asked, astounded.

The stranger's eyes narrowed ever so slightly.

"Look, doc...I had no choice," he replied, his voice tinged with annoyance, "now, are ya comin' or not?"

Doc sniffed and ran a quick hand across the graying bristles of his mustache. As he saw it, he had not much of a choice; even though he definitely disliked the man, he could hardly ignore his plea for help.

"All right...jus' gimme a minute to get ready," he grumbled resigned and began to shuffle off towards his bedroom.

Moments later, he emerged, fully dressed. Grabbing his black leather bag from the desk, he ushered the stranger through the door before locking it from the outside.

"I have to get my buggy over at the livery," Doc informed him as they descended the wooden stairs.

The other shook his head.

"We ain't got time for that, doc," he retorted gruffly, "I brought ya a horse." He pointed at two saddled horses, waiting patiently beside the staircase. "Hope ya know how to ride."

Immediately, the physician bristled.

"Of course, I do," he shot back irascibly, "what kind of fool question is that?"

Without another word, he snatched the proffered reins from the man's hand and slung his medical kit over the saddle horn.

As he now mounted the sturdy cow pony, he was unable to deny the strange uneasiness any longer that had been lurking in the back of his mind ever since the stranger had walked through his door.

Doc gave a slight shiver, and he suddenly wished that Matt or Chester could have come along.

He cast a quick glance towards the Marshal's office, but before he had a chance to say anything, the stranger gave a sharp whoop, smacking Doc's horse on the rump with the ends of his reins.

Startled, the pony broke into a swift canter and all Doc could do was hold on for dear life as mount and rider quickly disappeared into the inky darkness of the night.

_x_

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The mid-morning Kansas sun shone brightly through the dust-streaked windows into the Marshal's office, bathing the old wooden plank floor in its warm light.

Chester Goode, the Marshal's assistant was happily singing to himself, briskly moving the broom in his hands across the floor.

Oblivious to the clouds of dust he sent billowing into the air, he worked his way over to the nook which housed his and the Marshal's bed.

Matt Dillon made a grumbling noise and tossed himself around on his cot, pulling the woolen blanket tighter around himself.

Usually, he was up by now, making his rounds or checking the mail, but he hadn't been feeling well for the last day or so and, to make matters worse, a little while ago his head had begun to pound terribly.

The gangly, young man shot him a quick glance.

"Mornin' Mister Dillon," he said brightly as he looked up from the floor where he was now stooped over, sweeping up the enormous dirt pile he had created. "Sure's a beautiful day, ain't it?"

An unintelligible mumble was the response; Matt didn't know whether it was beautiful outside, and right now, he definitely had no ambitions to find out.

Unimpressed by the Marshal's obvious indifference, Chester rambled on.

"I made us some coffee, Mister Dillon," he said as he limped over to the backdoor, opened it and tossed the dirt outside, loudly slamming the door shut when was done.

Matt flinched at the noise and squeezed his eyes shut, wishing that Chester would just disappear for a little while.

The young man, however, had no such intentions.

"It's gettin' kinda late-like...don't ya think ya maybe oughtta get up?" he wondered instead.

He casually picked up a 'Wanted' poster from the desk and studied it for a moment.

"Sure's a mean-lookin' fella this Dan Moody, ain't he?" he mused out loud, shaking his head.

Chester's words caused an annoyed look began to spread across Matt's face. The old cot he was sprawled out on was creaking dangerously as the tall man now forcefully flipped himself around.

"Chester," he growled, "do me a favor, will ya?"

The young man looked up expectantly. He was standing over by the stove, firmly holding the Marshal's colt by the barrel, ready to nail the poster to the announcement board.

"What do ya want me to do, Mister Dillon?" he inquired curiously.

"Go away!"

With a grunt, Matt threw himself back around and pulled the blanket over his head.

Right away, Chester's enthusiasm gave way to indignation and a frown began to darken his face.

"Well, forevermore," he muttered offended, running a quick hand through his dark hair as he stared at the Marshal's back in disbelief.

He was just about to say something in retort when his attention was drawn to the front door as it opened with a creak, flooding the office with the bright light of the morning sun.

Chester's face began to lighten up immediately when he saw who it was.

_to be continued..._


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

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"Mornin', Chester," Kitty Russell greeted him with a smile.

Chester smiled broadly, always happy to see the pretty co-owner of the Long Branch.

He quickly walked around her to close the door and then set the broom aside.

"Well, good morning' there, Miss Kitty," he beamed, "sure's nice to see ya."

Kitty's eyes traveled over the office, in obvious search of something.

"Say, where's Matt?" she now wondered, turning back to Chester.

What her eyes had obviously failed to see, was the lumpy outline of the Marshal, curled up under the blanket on his cot.

Right away, Chester's features darkened. He threw a quick glance over in the Marshal's direction. Lowering his voice, he then brought his hand up to his mouth and moved closer to Kitty's ear.

"He's over yonder," he whispered, nodding towards the cot, "but I'm tellin' ya, he sure does seem a bit jumpy today. Maybe we oughtta just leave be."

A slight frown began to crease Kitty's forehead. She had already figured that he had spent the night here at the jail when he hadn't show up in her room last night, but that he was still in bed at this hour--

Resolutely, the pretty redhead marched over to where he was lying. Hands perched on her hips, she raised a curious eyebrow as she looked down at the tell-tale form of the Marshal, clearly outlined underneath the blanket.

"Matt," she said, "what are you doing in bed at this time of day?"

Slowly, the blanket began to move, and a moment later, Matt's tousled head emerged from underneath it.

"I'm not in bed," he muttered, casting her a quick glance through half-opened eyes,

"I'm resting."

Kitty raised a brow.

"I see," she replied crisply, "well,...that sure gives me a great sense of security, knowin' that the Marshal is resting in the middle of the day."

The distinct touch of sarcasm in her voice was quite obvious and impossible to miss.

Matt barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes, at the same time seriously wondering what one had to do to get some peace and quiet around here.

"I'm sick, Kitty...I feel terrible," he then said out loud instead as he rolled himself onto his back. Right away, the bright morning sun assaulted his eyes. With a groan, he moved his right forearm over his eyes to shield them from the light.

"Well...maybe if you had a cup of coffee," Chester now suggested helpfully.

Still a little upset over the earlier incident, he cautiously peered down at the Marshal over Kitty's shoulder.

Matt sighed resigned, a look of weary annoyance on his face. He knew when he was beat.

"All right...are you two in this together?" he muttered as he began to awkwardly shift himself into a sitting position. He found that his head was still pounding terribly and he groaned softly, pinching the bridge of his nose.

After briefly stretching himself, he reached for his shirt and pulled it on.

Now, for the first time, Kitty was able to get a closer look at him.

Her eyebrows immediately knitted into a frown when she noticed his flushed face and the beads of sweat that covered his forehead and chest.

Her eyes filled with concern, she sat down next to him and gently placed the back of her hand on his cheek.

"Oh, my...if I didn't know any better, I'd say you have a fever," she exclaimed startled, surprised at how hot he felt to her touch.

"Yeah...imagine that," replied Matt crossly as he began to button up his shirt.

Kitty made a face and was about to reproach him for his remark when the office door all the sudden flew open and Burt Lucas came rushing in.

The young farmer stopped for a second, looking around and then turned straight towards the Marshal.

"Marshal Dillon...I need Doc Adams an' he ain't at his office," the wiry young man shouted quite excited.

Matt glanced up at him.

"Well, what's the matter, Burt?" he wondered as he coaxed the last button into its hole.

Burt Lucas and his wife Maggie were relatively new to the area. Matt suddenly remembered having seen her at Doc Adams' office last week. She had already looked then as if she was ready to have her baby right this minute.

"It's Maggie, Marshal," the young farmer confirmed his thoughts now, "the baby's comin'!" He nervously twisted the hat in his hands, looking rather lost.

Matt was relieved; although he didn't know much about babies, he knew that women usually managed to give birth on their own while the doctor stood by to assist; but he also understood Burt's uneasiness since it was their first one.

"Chester," he addressed his assistant who was standing by the stove, about to pour a cup of coffee, "why don't you go an' see if you can't find Doc somewhere."

"Yes, Mister Dillon," replied the young man immediately. He put down the cup, snatched his hat off the peg and hurried out the door.

A strangled moan escaped Matt's lips as, once again, the sunlight came flooding in through the open door, blinding him.

Followed by two pairs of curious eyes, he clambered heavily to his feet and trudged over to the stove to finish pouring the coffee. Felling as lousy bas he did, he definitely needed all the help he could get today.

Remembering his manners, he then held out a cup to the farmer.

"Can I get you some?" he wondered.

With a shake of his head, the young man politely declined, his gaze wandering anxiously to the window.

Kitty's heart went out to the nervous young man. She rose from the bed and walked over to where the Marshal was standing.

"Maybe I should go out there with Burt," she suggested.

Matt regarded her thoughtfully for a moment.

"Well,...might be a good idea--if you don't mind," he replied after brief consideration.

He already knew that Doc would most likely ask her to come along anyway as he had down numerous times in the past.

Kitty's smile was genuine.

"Of course not, Matt," she assured him and, turning to Burt, she nodded towards the door. "Won't you go ahead...I'll be right with you."

Relieved, the young farmer thanked them both and slipped out the door.

When the door had closed, Kitty stepped up to Matt.

He was an imposing figure--just the size of him inspired respect--regardless whether he was sick or not. Looking up at him, she tenderly brought her hand to the side of his face.

"You oughtta have Doc take a look at you, too, cowboy," she said gently.

Matt didn't get sick very often but when he did, he often seemed to make up for it.

He could hear the concern in her voice and flashed her a quick smile, hoping it didn't come across as bad as he felt.

"I'll be all right," he assured her.

Gently taking her hand in his, he bent down to give her a quick kiss on the cheek.

"I'm gonna give Chester a hand...see if we can't find Doc somewhere," he said, "we'll meet you at Lucas' place as soon we can."

Kitty gave his hand a gentle squeeze.

"All right... Matt," she said and then slipped out the door to join the waiting Burt Lucas.

_to be continued..._


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

"By golly,...you just hang in there, Ezra," Doc Adams muttered quietly as he patted the sleeping man's arm. He had given him the last of the Nitroglycerin that he had luckily carried in his bag and hoped that it was enough. One look at the old man's ashen face as he had clutched his chest, had told him immediately that the homesteader was suffering a heart attack when he had collapsed on the cabin floor a few hours ago.

Now there was little else that he could do for him but pray. Doc's face was serious as he turned to Hettie Carswell, Ezra's wife of forty-six years.

"Well,...I done all I could, Hettie...it's out of my hands now," he said softly with a thoughtful swipe at his mustache. Slowly, he rose from the bedstead to move aside for her.

Silently, the elderly woman drew closer; her eyes began to mist over when she bent down to tenderly caress her husband's face.

"How's the old man, doc?" The cold voice, coming from the doorway caused the physician to turn.

Immediately, the doctor's face darkened. He turned and shuffled up to the big man that was casually leaning in the doorway, a colt in his right.

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The Marshal urged his buckskin forward, giving him a short stretch to warm up before putting him into an easy canter as they left the city limit of Dodge behind.

The Lucas' homestead was only a good half hours ride north of town, just past the Carswell's place. Puffs of dust rose behind them as they galloped along the dusty trail that wound its way through the prairie with its groves of trees and green meadows.

It was already late morning and the Marshal and Chester had spent a good portion of it unsuccessfully looking for Doc Adams. Matt was not too concerned at this point; it happened quite frequently that the physician was called out in the middle of the night to deliver a baby or tend to someone who had suddenly fallen ill. The fact that his buggy was still at the livery wasn't cause for concern either; it was not unusual, if the situation was urgent that Doc rode along with whoever had come for him.

Soon, Matt came upon the Lucas' spread and he slowed his mount to a trot as he guided him past the barn with its attached corral towards the small one-story farmhouse to the right of it. He dismounted and loosely tied the reins to the crude pine hitching post.

Apparently, his arrival hadn't gone unnoticed; as soon as he stepped up onto the porch, Burt Lucas came out to greet him. "Where's Doc?" were the first words that came across his lips as his eyes anxiously searched the farm yard behind the Marshal.

Matt took off his Stetson and brushed the dust from it. "Well, I'm afraid we'll have to do without him-" he told the young man with a shrug.

Burt didn't immediately understand. "What do ya mean? Where is he?" he wondered, sounding rather anxious.

Matt exhaled loudly. "I don't know...I got no idea, Burt-" he muttered and began to make his way past the farmer into the house.

His eyes surveyed the room and quickly located Kitty. The pretty redhead paused in the doorway of the bedroom when she saw him, a look of relief beginning to spread across her face. "I'm glad you're here, Matt...it's anytime now-" Tucking a stray strand of red hair back behind her ear, she glanced over to the door. "Where is he?" she wanted to know.

"I'm sorry, Kitty but Chester an' I looked all over-" He shook his head, his eyes on the hat he was twisting in his hands.

"Oh, that's just swell," muttered Kitty in reply, her hands on her hips. "Well,...I guess we'll just have to do the best we can," she then added resigned. She didn't exactly like the idea of having to deliver Maggie's baby without the physician but she was fairly confident that she would manage.

"Anythin' I can do to help?" Matt offered in an attempt to ease her worries.

"Well, you could make sure, that water over there is nice and hot," she told him, pointing towards the big cast-iron stove.

"All right...I can do that," he answered with a nod. Secretly relieved that she didn't ask for his help with Maggie, he began to roll up his sleeves as he walked over to the big cast-iron stove while Kitty disappeared into the bedroom again.

The next half hour passed slowly. Burt Lucas had taken to nervously pacing the floor as the muffled cries of pain coming from the adjacent room became more frequent.

Matt cast the young farmer a sympathetic look; even though he had never been in this situation, he could understand how unsettling it must be to see the woman you love in such obvious pain. He found himself wondering, how he would act if it was Kitty lying in that bed instead, about to have his child and he suddenly started feeling emotions that he couldn't quite identify-

He quickly shook off his thoughts when the door to the bedroom was suddenly cracked open and Kitty peered through. "Matt...I need that hot water...now!" she called out to him urgently. The tone of her voice caused him to hurry and he quickly poured the water into the waiting bowl.

With outstretched arms, he carefully carried the steaming container into the bedroom.

After hastily directing some calming words at the soon-to-be father, Kitty closed the door, leaving Burt alone with his worries.

Matt cringed inwardly at the sight of the young woman; her face was flushed and contorted with pain as she cried out with the violence of another contraction. Unsure of what to do, he began to scratch the nape of his neck with his thumbnail and stared down at the tips of his boots.

When Kitty saw his apprehension, she handed him a moist rag. "Here...why don't you keep her cool," she suggested, giving him a sympathetic smile. It was amusing to see the usually tough-as-nails-lawman act so awkward at the sight of a woman about to have a baby.

Relieved, Matt accepted the rag-he could definitely handle this part. He kneeled beside the bed and began to gently wipe Maggie's forehead, talking to her soothingly, determined not to let his eyes wander too far from her face.

Somehow, he ended up loosing track of time but soon it was all over and the momentary silence was broken by a small wail that quickly increased in volume as the infant took its first breath.

"It's a boy," Kitty declared softly as she quickly wrapped the infant into a blanket and handed it to its mother.

Matt couldn't help keep the amazement from his eyes as he regarded the tiny human being and he managed to give Kitty a big smile, despite the fact that his stomach was feeling rather weak by now.

Their attention was now drawn to the door as it was tentatively cracked open and Burt stuck his head through.

"Congratulations, Burt," said the Marshal with a grin as he rose from the floor and stepped over to Kitty's side.

Tenderly, he put his arm around her, giving her a quick squeeze. "I'm proud of you," he whispered, his eyes resting pleased on the new family.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

It was late afternoon as the small buckboard wagon finally rattled down the trail past the Carswell farm towards Dodge. His forearms resting on his thighs, the Marshal casually held the reins in one hand, every now and then flicking them down onto the horse's back to keep it trotting along at an even pace. The young woman sitting next to him contentedly rested her head against his shoulder, her left hand tucked under his right elbow.

No words or gestures were needed to confirm the bond they shared but every now and then Matt turned to glance down at her affectionately.

The Marshal had convinced Burt Lucas to lend them the buckboard so that the new father didn't have to bother with taking Kitty back into town; after tying his horse to the back of the wagon, they had set out on the short drive back into Dodge.

So far, their trip had been a quiet one; Matt and Kitty sat next to each other in agreeable silence, simply enjoying the fact that they were traveling together on such a beautiful day. Kitty let her gaze wander over the landscape; the prairie, with its meadows, dotted with a profusion of wildflowers, was a lovely sight at this time of year. She had grown to love the rugged beauty of Kansas even though it was in stark contrast with her New Orleans upbringing.

The familiar buildings of Dodge were just coming into sight as they rolled around the last bend in the dirt road. Suddenly, the calm was broken by the thunder of hoofbeats on the dry, hard ground; a rider quickly came towards them at breakneck speed.

With a frown, the Marshal pulled the wagon to a halt. The man, however, had no intentions of stopping; without as much as a glance, he sped past them, trailing a cloud of dust behind him.

Curious, Kitty straightened up, her eyes following the quickly disappearing rider.

"Who was that?" she wondered, lifting her gaze questioningly at the tall man sitting next to her.

"Don't know," Matt shrugged, "he sure was in a hurry though-" With a final, thoughtful look at the cloud of dust, he tapped the reins down onto the mare's back and clicked his tongue.

When they arrived in Dodge moments later, they found a small crowd gathered outside the doctor's office.

As he pulled the wagon to a halt alongside the building, he could see Chester sitting on the steps, holding something to his head.

Hastily, the Marshal jumped off the high seat. The crowd moved aside as he made his way over to his assistant.

His jaw tightened when he saw that Chester was holding a bloodied rag to his forehead. "What happened here?" he wanted to know.

"Oh, Mr. Dillon," the young man began, clearly relieved to see him," it's jus' awful good to see you back-"

"Yeah," said Matt, impatiently waving him off, "tell me what happened-" His eyes quickly scanned the crowd for Doc and came back to rest on his assistant when he didn't see the physician anywhere.

"Well," Chester, flinched as Kitty, who had rushed to his side, began to examine the cut. "I jus' don't understand it at all...this there fella-I ain't never seen him afore, Mr. Dillon-he was a-sneakin' out of Doc's office...when I tried to stop him, he hit me upside the head with that gun o' his an' then took off a-ridin' like the devil's after him-"

Surprised, Matt raised his eyebrows. "Well,...that answers your question," he remarked grimly, giving Kitty a quick glance.

When Chester cast him a puzzled look, Matt briefly explained about the man that had passed them minutes earlier.

"I take it, Doc's not back yet?" he asked as his eyes now wandered up to the office.

Chester shook his head, a sudden frown appearing on his face as his head made itself known by throbbing sharply.

"You know if anything's missin' up there Chester?" Matt probed further.

"Well,...like I said...I didn't get to see much on the account o' that weasel hittin' me upside the head...but he had a couple o' them bottles here-" He opened his left hand and produced a small brown bottle. "Reckon, he lost that one when he was a- runnin' down them stairs-"

The Marshal took the small bottle and held it up to his eyes. "Hmm...Nitroglycerine-" he muttered, reading the label; he had heard the name before, but couldn't remember what Doc used it for.

Matt turned to Kitty. "Is he gonna be all right, Kitty?"

"He's goin' to be just fine, Matt," she assured him, patting Chester's shoulder.

"Good...I see you two later then-" Stuffing the bottle in his shirt pocket, he walked over to the wagon and untied the buckskin. Reins in his left, he toed the stirrup and pulled himself into the saddle.

"Wait...what're ya fixin' to do?" wondered Chester. It really wasn't necessary for him to ask since he already knew where the Marshal was heading.

"I'm gonna see if I can't catch up with our friend-" With that, he turned his mount around, back into the direction they had just come from and spurred him forward to a swift gallop.

It didn't take Matt long to cover the distance between Dodge and the spot where the rider had passed them earlier. Reining his horse to a halt, he bent down, trying to make out the hoofprints on the dusty ground.

He had no trouble following them until they suddenly seemed to disappear where the rider had obviously left the road in favor of the softer, grassy ground.

He dismounted and surveyed his surroundings; about a quarter of a mile to his right was the Carswell homestead. This was rather strange, he thought; Ezra and Hettie Carswell were an old couple without any kin nearby and he couldn't imagine their farm being the rider's destination.

Nevertheless-maybe they had seen something that would be helpful to him; with that in mind, he remounted and rode towards the farm house.

Clucking loudly in protest, the chickens scattered as he rode through the yard moments later.

Matt dismounted and led his horse to the water trough in front of the house, tying the reins to the nearby hitching post.

He stepped up onto the small porch and knocked. When there was no answer, he knocked again, this time a little harder. Soon, he heard the shuffle of footsteps as someone approached the door. He straightened himself, hooking his thumbs into the top of his gunbelt. Moments later, the door was cracked open and Hettie Carswell peeked out. When she saw who it was, her face lit up for a second.

Matt found this a little unusual-normally, she would have asked him in right away. He gave her a friendly nod, his hand briefly touching the brim of his Stetson. "Mrs. Carswell," he greeted her politely.

"Marshal Dillon, how nice to see you," Hettie replied but even though she was smiling, her eyes weren't and Matt immediately got the distinct impression that something was amiss. He didn't see it wise to come straight out with his suspicion, so he decided to question her about the rider first.

"Mrs. Carswell," he now began, "I'm lookin' for a rider that came through here a good half hour ago-"

Hettie Carswell's answer was immediate. "We ain't seen nobody, Marshal," she replied hastily, her features almost fearful.

Her answer came a little too quick for the Marshal's taste. "Say, Mr. Carswell around? Maybe he's seen someone goin' by," he probed, his eyes fixed on the crack in the door above her head, attempting peek inside.

When she became aware of his probing gaze, she closed the door a little more.

"He's asleep, Marshal...he ain't feelin' well," she answered hesitantly, her eyes now purposely avoiding his.

For a second., Matt regarded her suspiciously; something definitely wasn't right here. "You mind if I ask him myself?" he wondered.

"I already told ya...we ain't seen nobody...please leave us alone, Marshal-" Hettie insisted forcefully.

There was a strong finality in her last words, one that he couldn't argue with and Matt realized that he had outworn his welcome.

Pressing his lips together, he watched as Hettie Carswell shut the door in his face.

For a moment, unsure of what to do, he lingered. Something strange was going on here but he could hardly bust the door down going on his feelings alone. He peered through the window but didn't see anything unusual.

Almost hesitantly, he finally walked back to his horse and mounted. He would try again tomorrow, maybe Mr.Carswell would feel better by then-

Unaware of the three pairs of eyes that were watching him closely through the window, he cast one last look at the house and then pulled the buckskin around, heading back towards the road.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

The day was quickly beginning to fade and the sinking sun cast long, sharp shadows onto the streets and buildings when the Marshal finally rode back into Dodge. Despite his determined efforts, he had been unable to find any clear trails and finally had reluctantly abandoned his search. He left his horse in Moss Grimmick's care and made his way over to the jail. Finding the office dark and empty, he assumed that Chester was probably at the Long Branch by now.

Matt carelessly flung his Stetson onto the peg by the door and walked over to the table to light the hurricane lamp; he still was't feeling much better and decided that maybe a drink would help. His earlier talk with Hettie Carswell replayed in his mind as he bent down to retrieve the whiskey bottle from the small cabinet under the window. His thoughts now automatically turned to Doc when he saw that the contents of the bottle was reduced to little more than a few drops. The physician was known to help himself to a frequent night cap from the Marshal's private stock and Matt remembered Doc complaining about the almost empty bottle the other night. Annoyed, he replaced the empty bottle and straightened.

Matt closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead; the events of the day had left him exhausted and badly in need of rest, but he knew he had to go and find Doc first. Surely, the physician would be back by now, probably sitting at the Long Branch, too, he figured.

He heaved a sigh, grabbed his hat and slipped out into the dark street to walk the short distance down to the saloon. A small party of cowboys clattered down the boardwalk, whooping and shouting as they passed by him.

The light, music and laughter spilled out onto the street as he approached the Long Branch and the Marshal hesitated for a moment before pushing the batwing doors open. Luckily, it wasn't too crowded and he had no difficulty locating neither Kitty nor Chester. He headed straight for the far end of the counter where the redhead was engaged in a lively conversation with his assistant. Kitty's face lit up when she saw him. "Well, hello there...any luck, cowboy?" she wondered, smiling up at him.

"I'm afraid not,"said Matt glumly as he leaned against the counter and turned to face his friends. "Say, have you two seen Doc?" he then wanted to know.

His inquiry obviously struck a nerve with Chester. "Well, for goodness sakes...I tell you,...he's back all right-" he grumbled, shaking his head in remembered annoyance.

Matt raised his eyebrows. "What're you talkin' about?" His question was directed at Chester but Kitty took it upon herself to explain. "Don't bother tonight if you wanna talk to Doc, Matt," she advised the lawman.

"Don't bother?" he echoed her words, a scowl crossing his face. "You two don't make a whole lotta sense, ya know," he then complained, sounding rather cross. The fact that he felt pretty seedy, didn't help his mood any.

"You know, it's Doc who's not making any sense, Matt," Kitty replied, ignoring his testy tone. "He came in here just a little while ago, ordered Clem to hand him a bottle of whiskey and left with it-"

Chester nodded earnestly. "Oh,...he sure was in a foul mood, Mr. Dillon...I mean, even for Doc that is-"

"Any idea where he went?" Matt asked, not liking what he was hearing.

Kitty shrugged. "Try his office," she suggested.

"All right...I'll do that," he said. He gave Kitty's arm a quick pat and turned to leave but her hand on his forearm suddenly stopped him.

"Matt, "she implored as her eyes caught his, "be easy on him.I think something's really bothering him-"

Matt studied her for a moment; Kitty knew Doc better than anybody and he could count on her to see things that others sometimes couldn't. He acknowledged her with a nod and left.

As he stepped out onto the boardwalk he turned his eyes upwards to the physician's office; sure enough, the flickering lamp inside shed a soft glow down into the street and he was relieved to see that Kitty had been right.

As he began to climb the rickety stairs, his initial relief slowly began to give way to a slight uneasiness when Kitty's words came back to him. He knocked. When there was no answer, he rapped on the door again, this time a little harder.

"Who is it?" boomed Doc's voice from inside.

The lawman flicked his Stetson back. "It's Matt-" he called.

There was some shuffling and a moment later, the door was unlocked and opened. Taking his hat off, the Marshal stepped inside, his eyes following the doctor as he trudged back over to his desk where he slumped heavily into his chair. Doc began to pour himself a drink and tossed the whiskey down neat. "What do you want?" he grumbled irritated as he refilled his glass.

Matt raised his eyebrows at the physician's unusually hostile tone but decided to ignore it-for now. "Well,...we haven't seen ya around all day," he began to say, walking closer to the desk, "an' I figured-"

"I'm not interested in what you figure, Mr. Marshal," Doc suddenly interrupted him loudly, "why don't you mind your own business-" He picked up the glass and downed its contents, loudly slamming it back down onto the desk when he was finished.

The vehemence with which he spoke, caused Matt to cast him a startled look and he decided, it was time to come straight to the point. "Bart Lucas was lookin' for you this morning...mind tellin' me where you been?" His voice was husky with annoyance and left little doubt that he expected an answer.

The words had somewhat of a sobering effect on the doctor; he lifted his head and his gaze met the Marshal's. "By golly...did Maggie," he began to mutter and there was genuine worry in his voice.

Matt pressed his lips together but his tone was softer now as he replied. "Maggie's fine an' so's the baby...you can thank Kitty for that-"

Obviously relieved by the Marshal's words, the doctor now relaxed, his shoulders slumping as his eyes fixed on the half-empty bottle in his hand.

Matt took the opportunity and stepped up to his friend, placing a hand on the physician's shoulder.

"Won't you tell me what's goin' on, Doc...come on," he coaxed softly, his voice filled with concern. He had know the doctor for quite a few years now and this wasn't like him at all.

There was a long moment of silence and Matt could tell that Doc seemed to be wrestling with some inner conflict; he ran his hand nervously through his mustache and rubbed his neck, his eyes darting aimlessly about. He didn't look up when he finally spoke. "There's nothin' to tell, Matt-" he said quietly.

Pulling himself up to his full height, Matt folded his arms in front of his chest. "Look...I can't help ya if you won't tell me what's goin' on," he replied, trying hard to conceal the frustration he now felt. He was sure that the doctor was holding something back from him.

All the sudden, Doc straightened, his eyes briefly flashing at the Marshal. "Doggone it... I already told ya there ain't nothin' to tell...why don't you go an' shoot somebody? Isn't that what you get paid for?" he barked angrily. "Now go...go on, leave me alone!" He waved his hands towards the door in an irritated fashion. There was a finality about his last words which discouraged further probing. He heavily rose from his chair and shuffled over to the door. As he opened it, he fixed his friend with a silent glare.

The gesture was quite clear and the Marshal realized that their conversation was over as far as Doc was concerned. "All right," Matt said reluctantly, barely reining in his anger, "you change your mind, you know where I'm at-" Slapping his Stetson back on, he stalked over to the door and with one final look at the doctor, he walked past him out onto the landing.

Matt was about to set foot onto the first step when he all the sudden remembered something and his hand went for his shirt pocket; Doc hadn't mentioned a single word about someone breaking into his office nor that something was missing. His fingers tightened around the small bottle and he decided to wait for Doc to bring it up to him. Without affording the doctor another glance, he began to descend the stairs.

The physician's eyes followed him until he disappeared from view around the corner. His body shuddered as he drew a shaky breath. "I'm sorry, Matt-" he muttered, his shoulders slumping tiredly. Slowly, he turned and shuffled back inside, feeling older than he had ever felt in his life.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

"Well...I sure can't figure it out," Matt muttered frustrated, his eyes thoughtfully fixed on his hands. He was leaning forward onto the counter, flanked by Kitty on his left and Chester on his right.

"Well, now...old Doc gets a little ornery now and then and flares up," Chester tried to explain away Doc's strange behavior, "but he sure don't mean no harm by it-" His head was bopping up and down earnestly to lend his words more emphasis.

Kitty nodded in agreement. "I was thinking, Matt...maybe Chester's right and Doc really just had a rough day-"

"No...no...it's more than that, Kitty," said Matt absently. He began to think; could it be that Doc was maybe trying to protect someone? It had happened before, several years ago when Jake Worth's son Hank was kidnapped and murdered. In order to save his own life, the physician had given his word not to reveal the identities of the kidnappers.

The comments that the physician had made earlier, not to mention the way he had acted, all pointed towards the fact that there was more to it than him simply having a bad day. One way or another, he had to get behind this. Matt picked up his beer but couldn't get himself to take a drink-he was still feeling rather sick.

Chester scratched his head. "Well,...we're right back where we started now," he remarked, sounding quite disappointed.

"Yeah,...you're right on that one," the Marshal answered wearily. He placed the still full beer glass back onto the counter. "Well...time for me to make my rounds-lettin' folks know that the Marshal's earnin' his keep-" he said with tired smile and his hand quickly brushed Kitty's shoulder as he turned to go.

Suddenly, Chester's hand shot out, grabbing Matt's forearm tightly. "Mr. Dillon," he whispered urgently, "that's him over yonder...the fella from Doc's office-"

The Marshal's eyes followed Chester's stare. There, at the other end of the counter was a lanky man with a pockmarked, rough-looking face handing Clem, the barkeeper a couple of dollars in exchange for two bottles of whiskey.

Immediately, Matt straightened; he hadn't been able to get a very good look at the man that rode past him and Kitty earlier this afternoon but he took Chester's word for it that this was the man indeed. The young man quickly stepped out of the way as the Marshal now strode past him towards the stranger.

When the cowboy became aware of the lawman's approach, he dropped his bottles onto the counter and turned towards the door.

"Hold it!" Matt called out at the same time his colt cleared its holster. For a second, the cowboy looked as if he was going to run but then, faced by the Marshal's gun, he thought better of it. He raised his hands and the Marshal stepped up to him, pulling the man's gun from his belt.

"It's him all right, Mr. Dillon," confirmed Chester as he came limping closer. "Sneakin' around an' hittin' people upside the head...what's wrong with him anyways?" he then added scowling.

Matt's eyes narrowed, regarding the stranger. "All right, get movin'-" He waved him with his colt towards the batwing doors. Silently, the man complied and the Marshal followed closely behind, his gun pointed at the cowboy's back.

"Chester," Matt addressed his assistant who was about to follow, "I want you to get Doc an' bring him over to the office-"

"Yes, sir-" He turned around and set off into the opposite direction.

No sooner had the Marshal locked the cowboy into one of the cells than Doc came storming into the office, Chester following closely behind.

"What, in thunder's goin' on here, Matt," he demanded irascibly as he came to a halt in front of him. The expression on his face was less than friendly and Matt could tell that he had been drinking some more; his eyes were blood-shot and judging by his disheveled appearance, he most likely had went to bed fully dressed.

The Marshal folded his arms in front of his chest. "I was hopin' you could tell me that," he answered calmly. For a moment, his eyes bored into the physician and then he quickly nodded towards the cells. "This afternoon Chester caught this fella here stealin' from your office-"

Immediately, Doc side-stepped the Marshal to get a closer look at the man in the cell and Matt could see the color drain from his friend's face.

"I don't know him an' I don't know what you're talkin' about-nobody broke into my office...doggone it, Matt...I would've told ya-" replied Doc harshly. He stuck his chin out, stubbornly glaring at the Marshal.

"You mean to tell me, you've never seen this man before?" Matt persisted, arms still folded in front of his chest; he was convinced that Doc wasn't telling him the truth.

"You bet your life I haven't!" the physician thundered. He nervously rubbed his neck, once again quickly glancing at the prisoner.

A big grin slowly began to spread across the man's pock-marked face. "Ya see, Marshal...it's all a misunderstandin'-" he walked up to the cell door and wrapped his hands around the bars.

"Well, forevermore," xclaimed Chester indignantly, stepping up to the Marshal's side, "fancy him lyin' like that-" He tossed the man in the cell a dark look.

"I ain't never seen him afore either, Marshal," the prisoner now said, nodding nonchalantly towards Chester.

"Now looky here," the young man suddenly exploded, angrily, pointing his finger at the man behind the bars. He took a determined step forward but the Marshal quickly put a restraining hand upon his arm.

"Take it easy there, Chester," he said calmly and then turned his attention back to the physician. "You sure, you don't wanna to make a report, Doc?" he inquired, firmly looking the physician into the eye.

"Sure I'm sure-I already told ya, nobody's broke into my office-" came the immediate reply from the doctor's lips as he agitatedly raked a hand across his mustache.

"Well...I reckon we don't have much of a choice then-" With that, the Marshal pulled the keys off the peg and before Chester could voice his objections, Matt had already unlocked the cell. "Get out-" he growled at the stranger as he held the cell door open for him.

Chester's face dropped and he looked from the prisoner to the Marshal. "But Mr. Dillon," he began to protest weakly.

"It's all right, Chester," said Matt quickly as he cast Doc a quick sideglance. He noticed that there was a faint flicker of relief in the physician's eyes as the cowboy stepped out of the cell.

Now grinning shamelessly at Chester, the man made his way past him towards the door. "Good night, Marshal," he said mockingly as he holstered the gun back up that Matt was holding out to him. With one quick look at the doctor, he slipped through the door and disappeared.

"Oh, Mr.Dillon...why'd you let him go?" Chester was dumb-struck; he had never seen Mr. Dillon act like this before and he was clearly disappointed.

"Not now, Chester," the Marshal muttered in a low voice and then turned to the physician. "Well,...I'm sorry for bringin' you over here, Doc-" Matt's apology came as a surprise to both Doc and Chester.

Matt's words seemed to have taken the fight out of the doctor. His shoulders slumped and he waved the Marshal off. "Yes,...I think you are-" Without another word, he slowly shuffled towards the door and left.

The moment the door closed, Chester began to question the Marshal again. "Well,...I jus' don't understand," he began to complain, trying not to sound as let down as he felt.

But Matt didn't pay any attention to him; silently, he stared at the small brown bottle in his hand-Doc definitely knew the cowboy, he was sure of that. The decision to let him go had been an easy one; it was apparent that the man's freedom had been extremely important to the physician. He silently decided that whatever Doc's reasons were, they were good enough for him-for right now anyway and he slipped the bottle back into his shirt pocket. "Well,...we figured out one thing," he suddenly said, looking up.

"Figured out what, Mr. Dillon?" Chester wasn't quite following him.

The Marshal turned from the door and began to take his gunbelt off. "Doc definitely knows our friend here-" He hung the holster onto the peg by his cot.

"Ya think it was smart ter let him go then?"

Matt thought on it for a moment. "I sure hope so, Chester-" he then said.

"Well," his assistant persisted, "don't you reckon, we oughtta go after them?"

Matt slowly shook his head. "No-no,...there's not much more we can do about it tonight...they probably both figure we'd do just that...we wait until morning-" With that, he began to unbutton his shirt and trudged over to his cot where he wearily dropped himself down. All day long he had tried hard to ignore the signals his body had been sending him, now he couldn't anymore-his limps felt weak and his head was throbbing worse than it had all day. To sum it up-Matt felt miserable.

He barely managed to pull his boots off before he curled himself up on his cot. Within minutes, he had drifted off into an exhausted sleep.

Uncertain of what to do, Chester stared at him for a moment, then he finally decided to do the same; if Mr. Dillon figured it was all right to go to sleep, then that was good enough for him.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

It was early morning and the rim of the sun had just risen over the edge of the horizon. Dodge was slowly beginning to awake to a new day as people began to stir here and there, preparing to go about their daily business. One person though had been awake longer than anybody-

It hadn't taken him long to hitch the horse to the buggy; he had been a little out of practice-it was Moss Grimmick who usually hitch it up for him-but he had managed.

Now the little black buggy rolled out of the side alley next to the livery stable and onto a still deserted Front Street.

Eager to get to his destination, the driver clicked his tongue and send the reins flicking down onto the horse's back, causing him to fall into an easy trot. Soon, the buggy had left the town behind in favor of the road leading north.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Mr. Dillon...Mr. Dillon-" The door to the Marshal's office suddenly burst open and Chester almost fell through. Struggling to regain his balance, he grabbed hold of the Marshal who was standing by the stove, ready to pour himself a cup of coffee.

"You better take it easy there," Matt smiled as he took hold of his assistant's arm to steady him. "Say...what's the matter with you anyways?" he then added when he saw the excited expression on his face.

Mr. Dillon," Chester gasped, wagging his hand excitedly towards the door, "I was jus' a-feedin' them horses an' old Moss done told me that Doc left town bright an' early this mornin'...what do ya make of that?"

Matt didn't answer right away; he had planned on following the physician around today but now it was obviously too late. "Did Doc happen to tell Moss where he was headin'?" he wondered

"No-no, Mr. Dillon...he sure didn't-" The young man shook his head.

"Well...I reckon, there's little we can do but wait, Chester-" answered Matt, trying not to sound as disappointed as he felt-this wasn't exactly going as he had planned.

He turned back to the stove and continued to fill his cup. His thoughts drifted back to Doc as he walked over to his desk and dropped himself down. Never before had he seen the physician so out of sorts and he was trying to come up with a good reason why Doc hadn't simply told him the truth. Then his mind turned to the pock-marked cowboy and Matt began to wonder where he fit into this puzzle; doubts, whether he had done the right thing by letting him go last night, began to creep into his mind and he decided to go looking for him as soon as possible.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"How's it goin', Doc?"

"Don't ask me questions,...I'm concentrating!" growled the doctor without looking up. His bespectacled eyes were fixed on the back of the unconscious man before him.

"Bad place, the spine-" he muttered to himself as he carefully pushed the forceps deeper into his patient's back, attempting to get hold of the bullet that was lodged in there somewhere.

"What do ya mean?" Dan Moody said as he drew closer. He didn't like the sound of the physician's voice, nor what he was hearing.

Suddenly, Doc's head whipped up. "Now you listen to me, " he snapped, his eyebrows knitted into a frown, "I don't know how much of a chance your brother has even if I get this bullet out...but I know your not helpin' matters any by botherin' me...now get out!" Gracing Dan Moody with a rather irritated glare, he pointed towards the door.

Moody stiffened, not used to being talked to liked that. "All right," he then said slowly, his eyes narrowed dangerously,"but you remember one thing," He poked a thick finger at the doctor's face, "my brother dies-so will you an' them old folks as well-" Without another word, he wheeled around and stalked from the room.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Why...good morning, stranger-" Kitty's voice was slightly mocking as she looked up at the tall man who was blocking the doorway of Jonas' Mercantile. She had just finished making a few purchases and was about to take her goods back over to the Long Branch when she literally ran into the Marshal as he prepared to enter the store.

"Mornin' Kitty," Matt answered smiling. He was fully aware of the tone of her voice but pretended not to notice. Undeterred by it, his eyes wandered to the packages in her arms. "Can I give you a hand?" he wondered, pointing to the small load she was carrying. All morning, he had been looking for the pock-marked stranger without much success and by now, had pretty much given up on finding the man.

She considered him for a moment; he did look better today, she had to admit and even though she still was a little upset that he had chosen not to spent the night with her again, she realized that he probably had his reasons-that didn't mean, however, that she would make it easy on him now.

"All right...knock yourself out, cowboy," Kitty replied, a sly smile playing on her lips. With that, she pushed her packages into his arms and proceeded down the boardwalk while Matt struggled to get a grip on her purchases. As he was about to follow her, Mr. Jonas suddenly stopped him and quickly began to pile more boxes into his already overloaded arms.

By the time he finally managed to organize all the wrapped bundles and packages, she was well ahead of him and he had to pick up his pace considerably in order to catch up with her-much to the amusement of Mr. Jonas and some of the other customers.

Slightly annoyed, he drew up alongside her. "Looks like you cleared out Mr. Jonas' store," he attempted to strike up a conversation, "you mind tellin' me what this all is?"

"Oh," she replied vaguely as she now pushed her way through the batwing doors of the Long Branch, "just some things that you wouldn't know about-"

"Try me-" he challenged as he followed the pretty redhead up the stairs.

Kitty came to a halt in front of her door. She turned around and gave him an amused smile. "You sure are nosy-" Pulling the key from her purse she unlocked the door and held it open for Matt to step through.

"I'm the Marshal-it's part of my job to be nosy," he countered teasingly as he made his way past her into the room. His eyes began to search for a suitable place to place the packages but nothing seemed big enough to hold them. Finally, he decided to drop his load onto Kitty's bed. He exhaled loudly with relief and straightened himself. "Sure's hot today," he muttered as he took off his Stetson and used his shirtsleeve to mop the sweat from his forehead. He watched as Kitty settled onto the bed and began to examine her purchases.

At his words, she looked up and her eyes narrowed. "And here I thought you were feelin' better," she said, sounding concerned. She studied his flushed face for a moment, not entirely sure whether it was from struggling with the boxes and the heat or from still being sick. "Come here," she then ordered him gently, her hand patting the bed beside her.

Matt complied gladly and did as he was asked. Turning himself over to her scrutinizing eye, he plopped down onto the bed beside her.

"Hmm," mumbled Kitty non-committally as she rose to her feet and stood in front of him. She placed the back of her hand on his cheek and then moved it to his forehead. He did seem a little warm, she thought but not really hot. She cocked her head a little, now studying his eyes. "You're eyes seem fine," she mused, seeing that they were as blue as ever. There was, however, a faint glint in them-one that she recognized all too well. "I don't think you're sick at all, cowboy," she finally concluded, regarding him with unabashed amusement as he gave her a toothy grin.

"Well,...I was," Matt quickly began to protest, now definitely feeling warm-and not just from the heat, "but I feel better now," he then added readily with a meaningful smile as his hands gently took hold of her hips, pulling her closer. His eyes searched hers and he couldn't help but notice the all too familiar look she now gave him-it was one that was reserved only for him-

Kitty's eyes twinkled mischievously when she realized where this was obviously going. Her earlier resolve, not to make it easy on him, began to weaken quickly as his hands now abandoned her hips and started to travel up her sides and around her back, pulling her even tighter into his embrace. The warmth of his chest pressing against hers, along with the demanding pressure of his touch, broke down the last of her resolve and all her reservations were gone-

There were at least a dozen, less favorable ways of spending the morning that she could think of, Kitty now thought to herself as she gently wrapped her arms around his neck and brought her face closer to his.

A strong, yet gentle hand was cradling the back of her head, pulling her even closer and their lips came together in a long passionate kiss.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

By the time the Marshal finally emerged from the Long Branch, it was already early afternoon. As he was making his way back to the office, he was quickly beginning to feel guilty for spending so much time at the saloon instead of looking for the pock-mark faced cowboy and the smile that he had left Kitty's room with, began to disappear. He just walked up onto the porch in front of the office when he noticed Chester waving at him from the Dodge House across the street.

"Oh, Mr. Dillon-" he called out as he began to hobble over to him. Matt stopped and watched his assistant cross the street.

"Well, for goodness sakes...I've been a-lookin' all over for you," Chester gasped as he stepped up onto the porch. "Where you been?" He wrapped his arm around a nearby post beam, trying to regain his breath.

"That so-" wondered Matt, regarding him curiously, "what's goin' on? Doc back yet?"

"No,...I sure ain't seen him," answered Chester, shaking his head, "but the other fella...ya know, the one you was lookin' for this mornin'...he came back a-ridin' into town a little while back-"

The news definitely got the Marshal's attention. "Where's he now?" he wanted to know.

"Well...he was a-hangin' aroun' the Long Branch for a spell, waitin' fer it to open, I reckon, " replied Chester, frowning at the thought of it. "Anyways, " he quickly went on when he noticed that the Marshal was looking at him somewhat impatiently, "he's over at the Lady Gay now, a-drinkin'-" He pointed down the street to the saloon.

"Chester, go an' get the horses ready," said Matt immediately. This time, he wouldn't let him slip away, he vowed to himself as he began to walk down Front Street.

It wasn't before long and the cowboy left the Lady Gay Saloon. Several whiskey bottles cradled in his arms, he headed straight for his horse, a pretty strawberry roan which was waiting patiently, tethered to the hitching beam in front of the saloon.

"Good gravy, Mr. Dillon," Chester muttered astounded, "that fella sure likes his liquor-" The two men were standing in one of the side alleys across the street.

The Marshal shook his head slightly. "I have a feelin' that's not all for him, Chester," he replied thoughtfully, his eyes fixed on the cowboy. They watched as the man packed the bottles into his saddlebags and untied his horse. As soon as the cowboy had climbed into the saddle, he spurred his horse into a swift jog.

"Come on-" Matt gave Chester a nudge and began to mount his own horse.

"He's headin' north," the Marshal mused out loud. Suddenly, his mind drifted back to Hettie Carswell and he remembered how strange she had acted yesterday. "Let's go," he said as he set out to follow after his man, determined not to loose him again.

Whatever his destination was, the cowboy obviously wasn't in a terrible hurry to get there and the Marshal and Chester had to slow down several times and fall behind even further in order to avoid being seen by him.

A good half hour had passed and Matt realized that they were getting close to the Carswell place.

He reined his buckskin in and waited for his assistant to come up alongside him.

A troubled expression began to appear on Matt's face as he watched the strawberry roan trot up the narrow dirt road towards the farm.

"What's the matter?" asked Chester as he stopped at the Marshal's side, craning his neck to see what Mr. Dillon was looking at. His eyes widened when he realized where their man was heading. "Now what business, do you reckon, a fella like that has with ole Ezra?" he wondered surprised.

"I don't know, Chester," he lawman replied thoughtfully, "but I sure aim to find out-" With that, he urged his horse forward into a canter and his assistant followed suit.

The buckskin now came to an abrupt halt and Chester's horse almost ran into him. Confused, the young man reined his chestnut in and looked at the Marshal who was staring straight ahead.

"Well,...I'll be doggoned," Matt muttered loudly, pushing his Stetson back.

The buckskin was tossing his head, restlessly scratching at the dusty ground as the Marshal straightened himself, bracing his hands on the pommel of his saddle. "Will you look at that," he said, turning to his assistant who had pulled his horse alongside him.

Chester stretched himself in the saddle, trying to see what the Marshal was pointing at.

A look of utter surprise flashed across his face. "Well, forevermore, he exclaimedstartled as his eyes came to rest on the little black buggy sitting outside the Carswell's farmhouse.

It didn't take Matt long to put two and two together; his suspicion, that Doc knew the cowboy, was now definitely confirmed. But what were they doing at the Carswell's? That question still remained unanswered.

"Chester,...I want you to stay here-I think it's about time, I have me a talk with a certain doctor," Matt said thoughtfully.

"But, Mr. Dillon," Chester began to protest, "don't you'd better let me ride along? What if there's gonna be trouble?"

"That's why I want you to stay here," explained Matt. Giving Chester one last firm look which left no doubt that this was his final word, he picked up his reins and spurred his mount forward into a trot.

Worried, the young man watched as the Marshal rode the short distance to the farmhouse. He realized that it was smarter for him to remain unseen in case there was going to be trouble-which he almost for certain knew was about to happen. Chester turned his horse around and steered him towards a little grove of trees; the growth was dense enough to conceal him and his mount and from here he had a good view of the farm. He dismounted, pulled his Winchester from the scabbard and waited.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

The Marshal slowed his horse to a walk as he entered the yard, his eyes cautiously taking stock of his surroundings. At first glance, nothing seemed amiss; the chickens were once again scattering across the yard, protesting his intrusion into their domain by clucking loudly and the dog greeted him with a friendly bark before he trotted off towards the barn. Matt's gaze wandered to the little black buggy sitting by the side of the house-yes, it was definitely Doc's.

When he reached the farmhouse, he dismounted and hesitated for a moment; he hadn't seen the strawberry roan-was he in the corral? Cautiously, he began to walk around the buggy but the corral was empty. Maybe the cowboy had passed the farm up, he now thought, after all, they hadn't seen him dismount. It didn't really matter-Doc was here and with or without the pock-marked stranger, Matt was determined to get some answers from his friend.

He turned and made his way back to the front door. Squaring himself, he knocked. This time, the answer was almost immediate as Hettie Carswell opened. "Hello, Marshal," said the woman, briefly looking up at him and this time, there was no smile to greet him. "Won't you come in," she said, stepping aside as she bade him to enter.

Matt's eyes narrowed suspiciously; the fact that she had opened the door so quickly, gave him reason to believe that she had expected him. He chose to remain on the porch for now.

"Mrs. Carswell," he said, "I see Doc's here...ev'rything all right?" His eyes were watching her closely for a reaction.

Slowly, the elderly woman lifted her head. "Yes,...he is...it's Ezra, he's very sick, Marshal," she said very quietly and then added, "why don't you come in?"

Matt could read the worry in her eyes but there was also something else-something that he couldn't quite identify-was it fear?

He decided to take her up on her offer. "Thank you, ma'am," the Marshal replied, taking off his hat as he started to cross the threshold.

Almost immediately, Matt realized his mistake-

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw something moving in the shadow of the door-he spun around and suddenly found himself face to face with the man he had been after. His hand moved instinctively to the gun at his side but froze above his holster when he realized that the other man was pointing a revolver at him.

"Well, what a nice surprise...fancy seein' ya here, Marshal," the man drawled lazily with a grin that revealed a row of yellow, chipped teeth, "now, if you don't mind...drop that holster of yours-" He pointed with his revolver towards Matt's gunbelt.

The Marshal didn't have much of a choice and reluctantly, he complied. His right hand still half-raised, he eached down with his left to undo the buckle. He threw the holster into the cowboy's waiting hand.

"Now get them hands up nice an' high, Dillon," the man said with a pleased grin. He motioned Matt to turn and then walked up behind him, the barrel of his gun firmly pressed against Matt's ribs. He prodded him along into the main room of the house, where two more strangers were waiting; a tall and broad-shouldered, heavy-set fellow was sitting at the table in the middle of the room. His left hand was wrapped around a whiskey bottle while his right was casually clutching his revolver. When he saw the Marshal enter, he looked up. "Well, looky here...it's Dillon," he said slowly. His lips were drawn into a sneer as he swept his gaze depreciatively over the lawman, looking him up and down.

Matt didn't bother answering; his hands still suspended in mid-air, he stood tall and evenly met the other man's hostile gaze. His mind however, was working feverishly; he was sure he had seen his face somewhere before-

"Hey, Fred," the sitting outlaw now called out to the other man who was standing by the fireplace. He was a rough-looking, wiry fellow with an angular, cruel face. "Look what followed Lou home-" The heavy-set man clambered to his feet.

_Lou_. Well, at least the pock-mark faced man had a name now, Matt thought to himself. Now if he could just remember where he had seen the other one before-

Fred now abandoned his spot by the fire and casually strolled over to get a closer look at their unwelcome visitor.

The two men threateningly positioned themselves in front of the lawman while Lou remained behind him, leaving Matt surrounded.

"Where's Doc Adams?" demanded Matt as he regarded the tall, heavy-set man through narrowed eyes; he carried himself with a certain arrogancve which led him to believe that he was probably the leader.

"Doc Adams?" the big cowboy echoed his words. He gave a short, contemptuous laugh and began to speculatively contemplate his knuckles. "Don't you worry about him," he then said coldly, "you'd better start worryin' about yerself, Dillon-" His eyes fixed on the Marshal's face. "I heard a lot about you...wonder if it's all true-" His eyes suddenly narrowed and before Matt could do anything about it, the man dealt him a powerful punch to his stomach.

With a gasp of pain, he doubled over, his hands instinctively wrapping themselves around his mid-section. He quickly gulped in a few lungfuls of air, the amused snicker of the three men ringing in his ears. After a few more slow breaths, he felt a little better and straightened himself back up, now glaring angrily at the men in front of him.

"Moody-" the sound of an all too familiar voice suddenly distracted his assailant.

"Your brother's g-" Doc Adams started to say, but the rest of his sentence suddenly seemed stuck in his throat when he saw the Marshal. For a brief moment, he stared at him in utter surprise. "Well, good heavens-" he then thundered. The initial shock over, the doctor began to march towards them.

Immediately, Matt saw his chance-in a flash, he had whirled around and grabbed hold of Lou's gun hand with his right while his left landed a painful blow to his chin.

With a startled outcry, Lou staggered backwards.

The other two recovered quickly and Fred charged at the lawman, slamming his riflestock hard into the Marshal's lower back. With a grunt of pain, Matt stumbled forward but caught himself and managed to ram his elbow into Fred's face in retaliation.

The outlaw howled with pain and anger and the rifle slipped from his grasp. Right away, Matt lunged for it but the sudden scream from Hettie Carswell's lips caused his head to jerk up in alarm. Before he realized what was happening, a single shot rang out, drowning out the woman's horrified cry.

Matt stiffened as a searing pain began to quickly spread through his right arm and his left instinctively clutched for it.

The muffled sobs coming from Hettie Carswell's lips as she clasped her hand tightly over her mouth in horror were the only sounds that broke the stunned silence. Then Dan Moody spoke up.

"You try that again, the next one's gonna hit dead center, Dillon," the outlaw growled threateningly, his face creased with barely restrained anger.

Matt was swaying slightly, glaring up into Moody's face- he looked as if he was about to charge the outlaw. Doc saw the expression on the Marshal's face and immediately rushed to his side.

"By golly, Matt...what, in tarnation, are you doin' here," he demanded as he put his arm on the lawman's back, trying to divert his attention away from Moody.

"I could ask you the same," replied Matt somewhat testily through clenched teeth, as he looked down at the doctor.

The physician stared him for a moment, unsure of what to say; he realized, he had a lot of explaining to do but now was hardly the right time. "Come on...let's get you on over to the table," he said instead.

Up to now, Dan Moody had watched in silence. "I brought you here to take care of my brother, sawbones," he now hissed at the physician, arms crossed in front of his chest.

Doc cast him an angry look. "I done all I could for your brother," he barked, "why don't you jus' shut up for a while-" Without paying any more attention to him, he helped Matt over to the table.

Grateful, the Marshal sank into the chair, resting his weight against the back of it.

The outlaw was contemplating Doc in silence; he still needed the physician-at least until he knew his brother was going to be all right and fit to travel. He decided to humor the doctor for now. "Fred,...Lou," he turned towards his accomplices. "Keep a good eye on 'em an' make sure Dillon gets tied up after Doc's done with him-" Without affording the lawman and the doctor another glance, he started to stalk from the room.

When Doc saw where Moody was heading, his head jerked up. "Stay outta there, Moody," he groused angrily, "I told you already he needs to sleep...I ain't gonna have you go in there and rile him all up...he's still too weak-" But even though the physician's voice was firm, Matt had known the doctor too long not to notice the strange tremble in his voice; it was fear-

Dan Moody frowned but obliged; as soon as Ed was better, he would take care of this damn doctor, he silently swore to himself. He turned and headed for the outside instead. The physician shifted his attention back to the Marshal who was looking rather pale by now.

Sitting slumped forward, Matt watched silently as the blood was slowly spilling out between his fingers from the bullet wound in his upper arm, soaking quickly into the light-blue fabric of his shirt. Though his arm was hurting badly, it wasn't enough to stop him from thinking. Doc had apparently been brought here to treat Moody's brother, he had figured that out but there were still too many unanswered questions-

His train of thought was interupted as Hettie approached, carrying Doc's little black medical bag. She handed it to him, purposely avoiding the lawman's eyes. He immediately knew why. "It's all right, Hettie," Matt assured her, "it's not your fault-" He tried giving her an encouraging smile but it came out rather strained.

His words caused a sad smile to flash across her wrinkly face and tears began to glisten in the corners of her eyes. "I'm sorry, Marshal," she choked, helplessly wringing her hands.

"Hettie," said Doc, "I need hot water and some rags-"

Mrs. Carswell pulled herself together and hurried off towards the kitchen to gather the requested items.

Doc cleared his throat and pulled his spectacles from his vest pocket, putting them on. "Matt," he said quietly in an attempt to break the strained silence, "I guess, I have some explainin' to do-"

The Marshal looked up, a grim expression on his face. "Yeah,...I reckon you do-"


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

As the day wore on and the hours passed by, Chester became increasingly concerned. The night was about to descend on the prairie, quickly swallowing up the last of the remaining light. Somewhere an owl hooted and from far off he could hear the eerie, drawn-out cry of a coyote.

Once again, he turned his gaze, as he had done so many times over the past several hours, towards the Carswell farm. Already it was almost too dark to even make out the outline of the house, however, he was able to discern the windows, presenting themselves to him as two softly glowing, orange rectangles silhouetted against the darkness.

Chester began to explore his options, quickly realizing that he didn't have too many-the realization was sobering. He remembered the shot he had heard several hours ago and he wondered once again who had fired it. For all he knew, the Marshal could be up there hurt or even worse-

Of course there was still the matter of Doc Adams; the thought that the physician was at the farm with Mr. Dillon gave him slight consolation.

Chester continued to think out loud, muttering to himself as he always did when he was faced with a difficult decision. He took his hat off and nervously ran a hand through his hair. After limping back and forth for a few more minutes and thinking the matter over, he knew what he had to do.

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Matt lifted his gaze when he saw Doc enter the room. Despite the physician's protests, Lou and Fred had roughly tied his hands behind his back and thrown him into the far corner of the room. His injured arm was throbbing sharply, hurting more than he cared to admit and the not exactly comfortable position was putting a lot of strain on his arm. He began to squirm a little, trying to take some of the pressure off but wasn't very successful.

Slowly, Doc came shuffling closer and the Marshal could see how much this ordeal had taken a toll on him; the physician looked worn out and tired and the spark seemed to have disappeared from his eye.

Matt understood, why he had been so reluctant to confide in him and his irritation at the doctor had faded when he had explained, how Dan Moody and his gang had brought Dan's injured brother Ed to the Carswell's and how Lou had come to his office in the middle of the night. The gang had taken the old couple hostage and old Ezra had suffered a heart attack when they had tried to tie him up. Unwilling to let Doc go at first, Dan Moody had sent Lou to the physician's office to get more Nitroglycerin for Ezra; he almost got caught, when he ran into Chester. The Marshal knew that the doctor's first priority had been the lives of the Carswell's but he still wished, Doc would have told him-

"How's Ezra, Doc,"asked Matt when Doc squatted down next to him.

"He'll be all right," the doctor answered quietly, swiping at his mustache.

The two men caught the watchful eye of Dan Moody. "Don't you git no fool ideas now, Doc," warned the outlaw. He was still comfortably perched on his chair, his feet propped up on the table, a new bottle of whiskey in his hand.

Doc ignored Moody's warning and leaned forward to take another look at Matt's injury. Luckily, the bullet had only grazed his upper arm and it appeared not to have done too much damage aside from the fact that it seemed to be bleeding a good deal. The doctor frowned when he noticed the fresh blood that was once again staining the bandage.

"Doggone it...didn't I tell ya to take it easy on that arm," he groused at his friend.

"Well,...you try sittin' up with your hands tied behind your back," Matt retorted crossly. His mood wasn't exactly the best-his arm was hurting, his hands were almost numb by now and he was thirsty. "Look,...I sure could use some water," he then added, a little calmer.

The physician studied him for a moment and then nodded. "Let me see what I can do," he said and scrambled to his feet. He was making his way past the table when Dan Moody's foot suddenly shot out, his leg blocking the doctor's path. "You know, Doc," the outlaw slurred, indicating to the physician that he was pretty drunk, "I don't think I like you very much...'s a matter of fact...I think you're lyin' to me about Ed-"

Doc pressed his lips together, all the sudden looking very nervous. "I don't follow you, mister," he said slowly.

"You keep tellin' me, my brother's not fit to travel," Moody went on to say, "how am I to know you're not jus' lyin'...you keepin' him asleep like that all the time," he fixed his somewhat unfocused eyes on the doctor.

The physician's nervous demeanor was gone. "Let me tell ya somethin'," he now snapped, "your brother's lost a lot of blood...I'm keepin' him sedated so he can regain his strength-" He quickly ran his hand across his forehead and swiped at his mustache. "You want him to wake up? Well, go ahead!" He threw his hand up, gesturing towards the bedroom door. "But let me tell ya somethin' else-" he went on to say, now moving closer to the outlaw and threateningly wagging his finger at him, "he dies...for heaven's sakes, don't blame me...I warned you!"

Surprisingly, the vehemence of the doctor's words caused the outlaw to back down. He opened his mouth but couldn't think of anything to say in return. "Well,..." he finally stammered, "you just remember...my brother dies-"

"Yeah, yeah...I know...so will I, " Doc finished Moody's sentence in a bored tone. He made a scoffing sound and dismissed the outlaw with an impatient wave of his hand before he continued on his way to the kitchen.

Deep inside, he knew that he had taken a great chance in talking to Dan Moody like that but the only thing right now that kept the Carswell's, himself and Matt alive, was the fact that Moody still needed him.

As long as Dan Moody believed that his brother Ed was unable to travel-

When he reached the kitchen, he quickly located the bucket of water sitting on the stove. As he dipped the ladle into the bucket, he suddenly took notice of a knife lying nearby.

Quickly, his eyes darted to where Moody was sitting; the outlaw was busy with taking a long pull from the whiskey bottle in his hand and didn't pay any more attention to him. The same went for Fred who was almost asleep by now in the rocking chair, the rifle across his lap.

His eyes going back and forth between the two men, Doc's hand stole up onto the stove and grabbed the knife, quickly slipping it into his coat pocket.

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Stealthily, his hands tightly clasped around his Winchester, Chester began to move towards the farm. He had decided against taking his horse and had left the chestnut tethered between the trees.

As he drew closer to the house, his determined resolve was slowly giving way to apprehension; he wasn't sure what to expect but he knew by now that something had definitely gone wrong.

The yard was still and peaceful as Chester cautiously hobbled along the split-rail fence towards the barn to his left. The soft glow of the oil lamps inside, illuminated parts of the porch and the young man could see the physician's unhitched buggy sitting alongside the corral. Crouching low, he quickly limped across the yard into the safety of the shadow of the barn.

His heart was thumping loudly in his chest as he leaned his back against the wall, resting for a moment. He had to make his way around the back of the house without being seen. But being seen by who, he thought to himself as the realization that he didn't even know who he was up against suddenly hit him.

Carefully, so as not to spill too much water, Doc made his way back to the corner where the Marshal was sitting. With an indifferent expression, Dan Moody watched as he passed him but didn't say anymore.

When the doctor had reached his friend, he kneeled down and held the cup to his lips.

Thirstily, the Marshal took a deep drink. He was about to nod at Doc, telling him that he had enough, when noticed that the physician wasn't paying any attention to him-instead, his eyes kept stealing nervous glances at Dan Moody. Matt knew at once that the doctor had something on his mind; he coughed a little to get his attention.

Immediately, Doc shifted his gaze back to the lawman and lowered the cup. His eyes were boring into the Marshal's as if trying to convey an unspoken message. "Let me take another look at your arm there, Matt...looks like it's still bleedin'" he then said, a little louder than really necessary and the Marshal realized at once that he wanted Moody to overhear them.

The outlaw lazily glanced over at the two men. "Yeah,...you jus' keep him from bleedin' to death," Moody sneered, "it'll give us a chance to shoot him later-" He laughed hoarsely before raising the bottle to his lips again.

Doc didn't reply bother replying. He crouched behind the Marshal, his right hand fumbling with the bandage while his left hand reached into his coat pocket, pulling out the knife. Matt lifted his head, trying not to look surprised when he suddenly realized what the physician was doing.

Seconds later, he felt the ropes loosening around his wrists and he was able to move his hands.

Carefully, so as not to draw any unwanted attention, he began to move his hands behind his back to get the circulation going again. "Thanks, Doc," Matt replied loudly, grinning inwardly at the fact that the outlaw didn't know what he was thanking the physician for.

The doctor pursed his lips and gave him a quick nod. "You're welcome, Matt," he answered with a quick wink.

Without another word, the doctor then scrambled back to his feet and made his way over to the bedroom where Ed Moody was laid up.

Left alone with the two outlaws, Matt suddenly realized that Lou was gone-his eyes began to search the room. Suddenly, he paused, startled by something outside the window; he was sure, he had seen something move outside.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven**

Only a few more yards, he told himself. Chester limped across the dark yard as quickly as his stiff right leg would allow him. His hands were still tightly gripping the rifle and his eyes fixed on the outline of the house directly ahead. When he had reached the physician's buggy, he slowed down.

Hesitating for a moment, he tried to decide whether he should go left, around the corral or right; the left meant a longer way around but the right led him past the front door and the two big windows, still illuminating the yard with their light.

After weighing the matter carefully, he decided on the longer way around and headed for the corral. The further he moved away from the house, the more difficult it became for him to see and he almost fell over a lonely bucket, sitting alongside the fence. The night was extremely dark with the moon only occasionally glimpsing through the thick cloud cover.

Suddenly, Chester froze; he had heard something. Straining his ears, he listened intently; there it was again-a soft rustling coming from the corral.

Almost too to afraid to breathe, the young man slowly turned his head towards the source of the noise and relaxed immediately. There, nibbling contentedly on an armful of hay, were two horses. He frowned at himself for having been so fearful and moved in for a closer look. As he did, he recognized the big buckskin at once as being the Marshal's horse and the smaller, dark one looked as if it belonged to Doc.

Carefully, so as not to spook them, he retreated a few steps and continued on his way.

Finally, he was past the corral and he now found himself at the back of the farmhouse. He could make out the dark rectangle of the backdoor with the light seeping through the crack at the bottom and the small window to the left of it.

Chester paused for a moment; there were no sounds coming from the inside. Crouching low, he inched his way closer to the window. Whn he had reached it, he straightened and tentatively glanced inside. His gaze fell on a big, beefy fellow sitting at a table, drinking whiskey from a bottle.

"Oh, my goodness-" he whispered to himself when he recognized the man at once as Dan Moody, the outlaw from the 'Wanted' poster.

His eyes continued to search the room and came to rest on a pair of legs in the right corner closest to him; the legs were clad in tan-colored pants and looked awful familiar-

Chester stretched himself further, craning his neck in an attempt to get a better look. A light-blue shirt, was followed by a definitely familiar looking head. The young man pressed his lips together-no wonder, Mr. Dillon hadn't returned, he grimly thought to himself.

Suddenly, he jolted and quickly ducked away; something had moved inside to the left of the window. As he carefully peered back inside, he saw another man sitting in a rocking chair to the left of him. The man was almost asleep, sagged forward with his chin dipped against his chest; occasionally, his head snapped back up as if he was trying to stay awake.

Chester withdrew from the window and flattened himself against the wall; he hadn't seen Doc nor the Carswell's but for all he knew, they could be in one of the other rooms. He realized, he had to do something-but what?

The solution presented itself rather quickly and unexpectedly as Fred rose from the rocking chair and stretched himself. Without a word, the outlaw marched straight towards the back door.

Now forced to act quickly, Chester's eyes fell on a shovel leaning against the wall next to the window. Without hesitating, he picked it up and positioned himself to the right of the door.

Seconds later, the door opened with a creak and the outlaw stepped over the threshold. He paused for a moment, his eyes briefly sweeping the darkness in front of him before he pulled the door shut behind himself.

Chester's hands tightened around the handle of the shovel as he swung back. With a thud, the broad side of the blade forcefully thudded down onto the back of Fred's head, knocking him out instantly. Silently, he crumpled to the ground.

Quite pleased with himself, Chester's eyes lingered on the unconscious man for a moment, then he straightened himself, putting the shovel aside. He knew there wasn't much time-Moody would most likely come looking for his partner if he didn't return soon.

He bent down and taking hold of Fred's ankles, began to drag him around the corner. He found a coil of rope hanging on one of the fence posts of the corral and quickly tied the unconscious man up. For good measure, he took the ioutlaw's grubby bandanna and stuffed it into his mouth.

Satisfied, he stood up and regarded the result of his work. One down, Chester mused proudly as he limped off to retrieve his rifle.

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Matt looked up as Fred rose from the rocking chair and left the room through the back door. This might be his best chance. He glanced over to Dan Moody; the bottle in the outlaw's left was almost empty. That was good-maybe he would fall asleep soon; if not, at least the alcohol would slow him down. Cautiously, he shook the remaining rope from his wrists but kept his hands behind his back.

Every now and then, Dan Moody's eyes wandered over to where the Marshal was sitting, shooting him scornful looks.

"Fred?" Moody suddenly called out and Matt realized that the other man indeed had been gone for quite some time.

Uttering a torrent of expletives, Moody slammed the bottle down onto the table and took his feet off the table top. Heavily, the big man clambered to his feet. He swayed dangerously and for a second, Matt thought, he was going to fall but he caught himself.

"Where, the hell, 'd he go?" Moody muttered angrily as he stomped towards the window, definitely feeling inconvenienced by having to get up and go looking for his partner. "You stay where you are, Dillon," he growled, pointing his revolver at the Marshal as he passed him.

Matt watched him intently; he had no intentions of heeding Moody's warning-he had to act now before Fred returned.

Slowly, he began to draw up his legs, angling them at the knees. Never taking his eyes off the outlaw who was now standing at the window and looking out, the Marshal brought his hands forward. He flinched slightly as his injured arm protested the movement and Matt hoped desperately that it wouldn't hinder him too much.

The alcohol had obviously caused Moody to be careless; unaware of what was going on behind him, his eyes searched the darkness outside for his missing partner.

Matt steeled himself and surged to his feet; within seconds, he had crossed over to the window. Grabbing Dan Moody's shoulder with his left, he forcefully yanked him around and landed a powerful blow with his right to the outlaw's chin.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter Twelve**

The violent sounds of fighting coming from the main room drew the physician's attention. Cautiously, he cracked the door of the bedroom open and peered through.

What he saw, caused his stomach to lurch; Dan Moody and the Marshal were fiercely wresting with each other and exchanging punches, each of the men trying to gain control over the gun in Moody's hand.

Matt dealt the outlaw a powerful blow to his chin that would have knocked any ordinary man to the ground; not so Dan Moody- he simply shook it off like an enraged bear and then lunged at the lawman with a curse on his lips.

The lawman was able to block a vicious jab directed at his nose but he was too slow to catch the powerful right which followed it immediately and slammed painfully into his brow. Stars began to explode inside his head and before he could recover, he was dealt another blow, this time to his chin which send him reeling backwards, falling over one of the chairs behind him.

Doc realized immediately that the injury to his arm put Matt at a disadvantage and he had to do something. Desperately, his eyes darted around the room and came to rest on the table. There, still in its holster, was the Marshal's colt. Without hesitating, the doctor rushed towards it.

Dan Moody's gaze fixed on his revolver, lying on the floor in front of him and he hastily lunged at it when he realized that the Marshal had laid eyes on it as well. There was a fierce gleam in the outlaw's eyes as he drove a hard punch directly at Matt's injured arm.

The result was exactly what Moody had hoped for; crying out in pain, the Marshal's hand withdrew from the gun and his left automatically went for the now wildly throbbing wound.

It gave Moody just enough time to grab the gun and take aim at the Marshal. But before he could pull the trigger, a shot suddenly rang out and the revolver was ripped from the outlaw's hand.

"You just hold it right there, Moody," growled Doc, the Marshal's colt directly aimed at the outlaw's head, "by golly,...don't make me shoot you-"

For a moment, Dan Moody simply stared at the doctor in disbelief, then he shook his head and began to laugh. "You ain't gonna shot me," he hissed and, paying no more attention to the doctor, he slowly began to reach for his gun.

Doc tightened the grip on the colt and adjusted his aim. "You're fool enough to try an' find out?" the physician challenged; his voice was firm and his eyes were locked with Moody's.

Suddenly, the backdoor burst open.

"He might not shoot you...but so help me-I sure will, mister-" warned a tall, lanky man standing in the doorway as he pointed a rifle at Dan Moody's chest.

Right away, the sneer on Moody's face disappeared and he clenched his fists angrily, furious at the sudden turn of events.

Matt quickly secured the outlaw's revolver and struggled to his feet. Despite the pain that was coursing wildly through his arm, he managed to give his assistant a smile. "Good to see you, Chester," he gritted through clenched teeth, his left hand wrapped tightly around his bleeding arm.

He made his way over to the door and began to look carefully look out.

Chester knew immediately what the Marshal was looking for. "If you're lookin' fer the other fella...I reckon, you could say he's a bit tied up right now," he informed the Marshal mater-of-factly.

When Matt cast him a questioning look, he added with a shrug, "Well...I had to even things up a bit, Mr.Dillon-"

"I see," answered the Marshal quite pleased. "Well,...do me favor an' make sure you tie this one up, too" he then said, pointing to Dan Moody.

Slowly, the physician began to relax when he realized that it was finally over and he lowered the colt. "I believe this is yours, Matt," he said, holding the gun out to the Marshal.

With a grin, the lawman accepted it. "That was quite some shootin' there, Doc," he remarked impressed as he exchanged Moody's gun for his own. "Next time I need a deputy, I know where to go-"

"Oh, no you won't," came the immediate reply, "I have a hard enough time cleanin' up after people using guns-" He shook his head and began to shuffle off to see after Ezra.

The Marshal's eyes followed his friend as he now disappeared in the Carswell's bedroom; he was glad to see that the doctor was back to his cantankerous old self again. Then he turned to Chester who had taken his task of tying up Moody apparently very serious; the outlaw was wrapped up like a package, unable to move anything but his legs and head.

Matt's thoughts suddenly drifted to the third man-Lou. He remembered that the outlaw had left several hours ago. Where was he?

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Dan Moody was a drunken fool as far as he was concerned and so was Fred, whose last name he didn't even know. Lou Wallace was trying to remember why he had joined Moody's gang in the first place as he rode through the darkness back towards the Carswell farm. He had spend several hours in Dodge, drinking and playing cards at the Lady Gay.

When they had first started out, there had been ten of them, now they were reduced to four-three, if Ed Moody wouldn't make it.

His face darkened as his mind went back to their last heist a week ago; they had attempted to rob the bank in Garden City and failed when they ran into some unexpected, fierce resistance from the Sheriff there and several of the citizens. Forced to make a run for it, they had to leave the money behind and on top of it, lost the lives of six of their men.

Dodge was a nice place, plenty of saloons; pity, he couldn't stay longer, he thought resentfully. Well, soon there would be other places, he consoled himself. Soon, the Carwell farm came into view and he directed his mount towards it.

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The arrival of the rider was immediately noticed; the Marshal had rushed to the window when they had first heard the clatter of hooves outside in the yard. "Looks like our friend's back," he mused as he watched Lou dismount and lead his horse into the barn.

"Chester, take Moody in there-" He instructed his friend, nodding towards the bedroom that accommodated Dan's brother Ed. Then he called for the physician.

"Doc," he said when the doctor opened the door of Ezra's room, "Lou's comin' back...I want all of you to stay put in there, no matter what happens-" The authority, with which he spoke, quieted any objections that the physician was about to voice and he quickly shut the bedroom door again.

"Chester...over there-" Matt pointed with his colt to the nook over to their right. Immediately, the young man placed himself in position; his back flattened against the wall, he cocked the lever of his Winchester.

The Marshal looked around and his eyes fell on the fireplace; it was hardly an ideal cover but at the moment it would have to do. With a few steps, he had crossed over to it and stood now pressed against the wall to the right of it.

Minutes passed without anything happening. The ticking of the grandfather's clock was cutting loudly through the tense silence. Finally, Chester cast the Marshal an inquiring look-where was Lou?

An unexpected answer came suddenly in the form of the shattering sound of glass as a bullet ripped through the back window, followed immediately by a second one.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter Thirteen**

In a flash, the Marshal and his assistant had thrown themselves to the ground; Matt could feel the first bullet whizzing by his head, missing him by only a fraction. By the time the second one came through the window, he was already on the floor. Lying on his stomach, he took brief aim and returned fire as he rolled himself towards the table.

Chester didn't lag behind; seeing what the Marshal was trying to do, he began to send several shots in close succession through the window while Matt grabbed the table and quickly flipped it on its side.

Now crouching safely behind its cover, he motioned Chester to join him as he fired another blind shot through the shattered window.

With swift fingers, he began to reload the chambers of the colt as his eyes glanced over to the front door.

"I need you to cover for me, Chester-" he whispered to his assistant who was kneeling beside him.

Chester nodded; never of his rifle, he pulled back the hammer, took aim over the table top and fired at the same time the Marshal rolled from behind his cover and jumped to his feet.

Within seconds, he had reached the front door safely while Chester continued to distract Lou. He had just fired his last bullet as Matt disappeared through the door into the yard.

Carefully, his thumb resting on the hammer of the colt, the Marshal advanced towards the left corner of the house; he recognized the shots that were now being fired as coming from a handgun and he knew for sure that it was the outlaw. Swiftly he rounded the corner and headed towards the back.

When he came up to the edge of the back wall, he stopped and took a deep breath before he peered around the corner. The lamp inside threw trembling shadows onto the ground and Matt could see Lou crouching behind a barrel, maybe eight feet from the house.

His fingers tightened around the grip of his gun as he readied himself. He waited for Lou to duck back behind his cover; Chester had apparently reloaded and was sending several shots into the man's direction; now he had to make his move-

"Hold it right there!" yelled Matt as he jumped from the shadow of the building, his colt pointing straight at the man in front of him

Startled, Lou wheeled around, the initial confusion on his face quickly giving way to a look of dangerous determination. Without hesitating, the outlaw suddenly brought up his gun and took aim; but he was too slow-the Marshal's bulled struck him square in the chest and Lou collapsed, the gun falling from his grasp. He was dead before he hit the ground.

For a second, Matt stood frozen to the spot; his knees were slightly bend and his right hand, still grasping the colt, was suspended in mid-air while his left rested motionless beside his thigh. His gaze was fixed on the body lying face-down in front of him. Self-defense or not, it was never easy for him to shoot anyone.

Chester's voice suddenly snapped him from his thoughts. "Mr. Dillon?" came the anxious query as he cautiously peered through a crack in the backdoor.

"I'm all right, Chester," answered Matt quietly. He bent down, picked up Lou's revolver and headed inside.

Slowly, everyone relaxed as the tense moments were now past and the shock of the events began to wear off. Doc Adams was busy with giving Hettie Carswell more instructions for her husband's care while Chester went to hitch up the Carswell's wagon and Doc's buggy.

"Well,...I'm all ready, Mr. Dillon," the Marshal's assistant informed him as he came back into the house a short while later. "I already got that Fred fella loaded up," he then added, pointing over his shoulder towards the door.

"Thanks, Chester," Matt acknowledged him and then turned towards Dan Moody. "All right, Moody...get movin'," he growled, motioning his prisoner to walk ahead of him.

Silently, the outlaw took a step and then suddenly halted. "How about my brother?" he now wanted to know.

Matt looked at Dan Moody and frowned; he had almost forgotten about Ed. "Doc," said Matt, addressing his friend who was standing by the table, wiping off some of his instruments, "how about it...can we move him?"

The was a long moment of silence as the physician was obviously looking for the right words. He nervously swiped at his mustache, his gaze quickly brushing Dan Moody and then coming to rest on the Marshal. " You can move him or leave him,...by golly, it's not gonna make a difference, Matt," he then said quietly, "he's dead...died the night after I operated on him-" Without another word, the doctor turned his attention back to packing up his instruments.

"You damn liar!" Dan Moody suddenly spat. His face darkened and he glowered murderously at the physician as he took several threatening steps towards him. "I would've killed all of ya if I'd of known that Ed was dead!"

The doctor stopped what he was doing and calmly looked up into the outlaw's livid face. "I know," he simply said.

With that, he snapped his bag shut, lifted it off the table and shuffled towards the door.

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It was quite late the next morning when the door of the jail was opened and the Marshal, followed closely by Chester, emerged. By the time they had finally taken care of the two bodies and their prisoners, it had been well past three in the morning; afterwards, sleep had come slow as the two men found it difficult to settle down.

Still tired and sore but cleaned up and relatively satisfied with the outcome of last night's events, Matt leaned against one of the post beams, his gaze lazily sweeping the busy street while Chester stood alongside him, stretching his gangly body.

The sudden sound of brisk footfall caused both men to turn their heads; Kitty had just stepped up onto the raised sidewalk, heading straight towards them.

As she came closer, Matt could tell that she looked rather tired

"Oh, Matt...I was beginning to get worried," she said as she stopped by his side and looked up at him, "I saw you comin' in this mornin'...is everything all right?" Her eyes fell on the lumpy outline of the bandage under his shirtsleeve and she bit down on her lip.

Matt glanced down at her affectionately; he had already figured that she probably wouldn't sleep too well without knowing where he was.

He straightened himself, tenderly placing his hands on her shoulders. "Yeah...yeah,...ev'rything's fine now, Kitty," he answered, smiling sincerely; he gave her shoulders a gentle squeeze and couldn't help thinking what he'd rather do instead. "How about I tell you over breakfast?" he suggested quickly when he found himself having trouble resisting the temptation of kissing her in the middle of Front Street.

"Breakfast?" Kitty raised a reproving eyebrow and placed her hands on her hips. "Why,...it's almost noon, cowboy!" she declared surprised.

"Well,...how about lunch then?" Matt corrected himself, shrugging; what difference did it make what you called your food anyway, he thought to himself.

Kitty shook her head but couldn't help smile-this was so typical Matt. "All right," she gave in, "lunch it is-" She was about to turn but then a thought struck her and she frowned. "Say...I haven't seen, Doc...Where is he? Is he all right?" she now wondered concerned.

Her question was answered as a black buggy suddenly drew up alongside the Marshal' office.

"Well...speakin' of the devil," Chester now chimed in as he limped around the hitching post to hold on to the horse's reins.

"Mornin' Kitty," Doc Adams greeted her cheerfully. "Matt...Chester," he then acknowledged his two friends.

"Well...I'm glad to see, we're not the only ones gettin' a late start today," said Matt, giving the physician a friendly grin as he hitched his shoulder against the post beam, arms crossed in front of his chest.

"Speak for yerself, Marshal," the physician grumbled, running a quick hand through his mustache the way he always did, "I been up since five-thirty...the Miller-baby decided that two hours of sleep is enough for an old man like me-"

While Doc was talking, Chester had made his way around the buggy. His eyes now fastened on the fishing pole on the seat next to the physician and before Doc could stop him, he had already picked it up.

"What're you fixin' to do with that?" he wondered, eyes twinkling with humor, "fishin' for patients?" he chuckled.

Doc however, failed to see the humor in it. "Gimme that!" he groused, yanking the pole from his hands and throwing it back onto the seat. "Nothin' wrong with a fella tryin' to get in a little fishin' between makin'calls," he growled defensively, a frown creasing his forehead.

"No-no,...there sure ain't nothin' wrong with doin' a little fishin'," the young man mused thoughtfully, rubbing his cheek, "'s a matter of fact-I was just a-thinkin' the same thing-well, if you know what I mean, Doc-" he prompted, hoping the doctor would take the hint.

Doc did-but not the way Chester had hoped. "Oh, no you won't!" the physician immediately flared up, "by golly, Chester,...I' m not gonna have you chase away the fish with your constant yappin'!" He harrumphed loudly with indignation and then turned towards the lawman and the pretty redhead. "Kitty...Matt-" he said, giving his two friends a quick nod and without another word, he resolutely send the reins smacking down onto his horse's back and departed, trailing a cloud of dust behind him.

"Well, forevermore-" Dumbfounded, Chester stared after the quickly disappearing buggy; sometimes, he just couldn't understand the doctor.

It took Matt and Kitty a lot of self-restraint not to burst out laughing. Loudly clearing his throat, the Marshal turned and took hold of Kitty's elbow. "Come on, Kitty...I'm starved-"

She smiled and looked up at the tall man, regarding him amused. "What's new, cowboy," she quipped, giving his arm a gentle squeeze.

Matt grimaced slightly but swallowed the comment; after all, Kitty was right-he was known to have quite an appetite.

Smiling, he was about to usher her along when he suddenly remembered something. "Say," he now began as he stopped her, "You never told me what was in all those boxes-"

Kitty's reply was immediate. "And I'm still not goin' to tell you-" she said matter-of-factly, giving him a rather smug look.

But Kitty couldn't help laughing when she saw the expression of obvious disappointment on the Marshal's face.

"Tell you what," she quickly reconsidered, knowing that Matt wasn't one to give up that easy, "you come by tonight after your rounds and... I'll show you-" Her voice had taken on a slightly husky tone when she had said those last words and a meaningful smile now began to play around her lips.

It didn't take Matt long to figure out what Kitty had in mind and a sheepish grin began to slowly spread across his face. "Yes, ma'am," he found himself muttering through a throat that suddenly felt somewhat restricted.

Out of the corner of his eyes he saw that Chester was now standing rather close, regarding them both intrigued and he reluctantly tore his gaze away from her. "Come on, Chester...I'm buyin'-" he said, giving his friend a friendly clap on the shoulder in an attempt to discourage him from asking a potentially embarrassing question and without waiting for an answer, he then wrapped his arm around Kitty's shoulder and began to usher her towards Delmonico's.

For a second, Chester's eyes followed the couple, his mind still busy trying to figure out what exactly Miss Kitty wanted to show the Marshal, then suddenly realizing that he had just been offered a free meal, he quickly abandoned his thoughts and hurriedly limped after them.

"Wait up, Mr. Dillon!"

THE END


End file.
